Heaven's Mercy Seat
by zinger17
Summary: Sitting alone in Granny's diner, Neal Cassidy waits for his miracle.


**Heaven's Mercy Seat **

**zinger17**

**Summary:**

Sitting alone in Granny's diner, Neal Cassidy waits for his miracle.

**Work Text:**

His coffee- black and army strong, just how he likes it- sits cold in the old, white mug gripped between his hands. The drink lost it's piping hot warmth some time ago and yet still Neal sits, sifting his mindlessly staring gaze between his abandoned drink and the street outside the diner window.

There's no use in playing it cool or pretending he doesn't know exactly what this is. He's sitting in the judgment seat and he already knows he'll be found wanting.

He doesn't have a magical solution that will fix everything. He doesn't have a reset button. There's no amazing justification or insight that will erase all of Emma's pain, Henry's pain over the last eleven years. He'd fucked up. He'd fucked up badly and he can't fix it. He'd give anything for a way to go back and make a different choice, smack himself upside the head and order his past self to not listen to August, to fight for another way to get Emma home.

Since he'd fallen down that green portal so long ago, he'd survived by his wits, his fast thinking, by scraping together nothing into something. Something to eat, something to live in, something of substance to offer in this crazy, non-magical world he'd found himself in.

That was all useless now.

No, Neal didn't have anything to offer to Emma but himself. A screwed up Lost Boy, a soul sucking nine to five mediocre office job, and a too late apology.

Neal didn't delude himself into thinking that would ever be enough for Emma.

Hell, his whole life he'd never been enough for anyone. His mother had chosen the freedom of a pirate's life over him. Papa had chosen power. Hook had chosen revenge. And the Darlings? The Darlings had needed to stay together. They were a family, a perfect, loving family. He was the outsider. He needed to be the one to go.

The coffee cup rattles in his hands and Neal sucks in deep, cleansing breath and carefully places it on the table. He'd a lot of time to practice that trick trapped alone in a dark cave in Neverland. Plucking a napkin from its holder, the former street thief meticulously wipes up the spilled droplets. No use making a mess for someone else to clean up.

No use looking longingly back at what you had in the past either. If anyone knew the danger of doing that it was him. There's no going back; there's only moving forward with what you had now.

So he'll count his blessings, won't he?

He has Henry. He has his boy, who somehow despite everything, looks up to him.

He has his father back. It wasn't the same, not by far, but they could work on that. And if he wasn't mistaken, in the near future, he might even have a step-mother- and wasn't that a kick in the pants?

It was enough. It would have to be enough because he's fucking self-aware enough to know it's a hell of a lot more than he deserves.

He'd text Emma, Neal decides, crumpling up the stained napkin again and again. Yeah. He'll text her, tell her he'd gotten the message. He'll assure her he understood her feelings completely and he'd be sure to make a point to try and stay out of her personal life from here on out. They couldn't completely avoid each other of course- they shared a son- but they could talk about that later.

Ignoring the dinging bell behind him, Neal runs his hands through his hair and closes his eyes, carefully tucking the maelstrom of emotions in his chest behind a closed door. Put it away, he orders himself for what feels like the thousandth time. Out of sight, out of mind.

"Hey."

Slowly opening his eyes, Neal turns to face the voice. Emma stands beside him, beautiful and wind-blown, wearing that half smile he loves so much and that guarded look that breaks his heart in two.

Sliding into his booth, Emma shakes her hair back and shucks off her jacket. "Sorry I'm late. Something came up. Have you been waiting long?"

Clasping his hands together almost stops the shaking. "Uh…not too long no. Don't worry about it," Neal manages. Centuries, he wants to say. I've been waiting for this, looking for this for centuries.

After snagging a drink for her- hot cocoa with cinnamon, maybe some things do never change- and a refill for him, they settle in. Emma slowly sips and studies him. "Well," she finally starts out. "What exactly do you wanna to talk about, Neal?"

Slow and easy, he reminds himself. Slow and easy and exactly at her pace. "Whatever you want Emma," he mummers quietly. "Whatever you want to talk about, whatever you wanna do…well. That's…that's what we'll do then."

Emma licks her lips and carefully sets her mug down. He can't read the look in her eyes or her face and it's breaking his heart all over again.  
>"Whatever I want huh," she finally says.<p>

"Yeah. Whatever Emma." He stresses the second word.

The diner is quiet, with only hushed conversation and the clinking of silverware and glasses, a far cry from last night's celebration. Neal feels like he's on a precipice, about to tip over, ready to tumble over the edge.

The hand grasping his, gently clasping is the sheerest sign of mercy he's ever received.

Emma holds his hand in hers, a soft, mischievous smile, familiar and well loved, and so, so missed blooming across her face. "So," she starts off as she settles back, crossing her legs, making herself comfortable. "What's your story, Neal?"


End file.
